


between 11 and 25

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 1960s, 2x06, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Claustrophobia, Elevators, Exhaustion, Fainting, Fix-It, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, No Incest, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Addiction, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Possession, Sibling Bonding, Sleep Deprivation, Vomiting, that possession wasn't consensual and it hurt klaus okay, tua s2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: “What did you take?”“Ben.”He laughs until it’s not funny anymore.---When the siblings leave, Allison gets back to check on Klaus in the elevator.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 29
Kudos: 717





	between 11 and 25

He doesn’t expect them to get back for him. He doesn’t, _he doesn’t,_ it’s not a big deal, right? _He’s_ not a big deal. He feels empty, devastated, violated, and… _Violated._ This word resurrects some old memories. Quite depressing. Add one more to the list — Ben should have warned him — so Klaus wouldn’t have fallen off that chair knocking the air out of his lungs. He failed, they failed, typical Hargreeves shit in typical Hargreeves style, and,

“Hey, Ben?”

He’s not here. Klaus huffs and spits his hair out of his mouth; he feels paralyzed, skin sweaty and sticky, and when he tries to crawl just a little he tastes bile coating the back of his tongue. If he chokes on his own puke and dies in this damn elevator, it’s gonna look like an overdose. Of course. An overdose of his newfound ability, of the possession. This terrible state of mind really gets him into thinking. Not that he’s passed out twice. He wants to look for Ben again, but he can’t see straight, and oh well, how badly his ghost bitch snapped. That sounds ridiculous, and Klaus barely suppresses a giggle as his stomach cramps again. His heart suddenly feels too big for his rib cage, and the old dead cowboys are absolutely no help — he can ignore them now — and there’s the ringing in his ears, he needs to get out, out, out, but his powers always drag his claustrophobic ass to closed and tight spaces. 

He closes his eyes and his ears not to hear his pulse turning to the staccato of the gunfire. 

“Klaus?”

He thinks he’s hallucinating, but the hand on his shoulder is warm and most importantly _tangible._ Somebody shakes him awake, and he opens his eyes and blinks the itching away while it’s still hard to focus. 

“Allison?”

Her palm is pressed to his forehead, she’s tipping his head back and staring into his eyes as the blotches of dim light in the elevator feel like lasers. Klaus wonders if his pupils are _indeed_ dilated to screw up his alibi. The answer is written across Allison’s face as she slaps his cheek. Gently.

And there’s the question he’s been asked at least a hundred times,

“What did you take?”

“Ben.”

He laughs until it’s not funny anymore. 

Ben is a hard-to-swallow pill. Which makes everything even weirder — not in a good way, and he’s still disoriented, how long he’s been there, a minute, an hour, a day? He breathes through another wave of panic, he moves just a little, and then he’s on the floor again, and he can’t breathe, clutching his shirt in his fist and nearly tearing it open. 

Some of the buttons are gonna go missing. 

Allison helps him sit up, waits until he gets back control of his stomach; it looks like a withdrawal, it feels like that, but he didn’t know. Ben didn’t know. And both of them didn’t know that Klaus would be able to do that in the first place.

“I’m calling a cab,” Allison says, helping Klaus lean against the wall outside of the elevator. “Are you okay to wait?”

He nods, he gives her a twitch of a smile.

“Sure, sis.”

He wonders if he has somehow made Ben even more dead. Is that even possible? He almost wishes he would, because handling those years of sobriety was a wild run — he didn’t know when, where and _whom_ he was going to commune with. Now he’s just having a comedown without even getting blissfully high. Tough luck. And he waits, and waits, and waits again, pressing his nose to his knees and almost falling asleep like that. Normally, Ben would crack a joke to keep him awake.

But nothing is _normal_ anymore. 

The Apocalypse, Reginald, Dave. _Dave._ Klaus licks up the cut in his lip, bites it to draw blood. It makes him feel sick. Everything, to be honest. 

Allison comes back, calling for him, hollering, grabbing at his shoulders to help him get up; he’s not ready, he leans onto Allison’s shoulder as she drags him down the hallway, downstairs, and he closes his eyes not to see the walls and the railings sway. Once they’re out of the building, he falls to his knees and vomits, mostly booze and bile, the Exorcist-like spray of grief and shame hits the asphalt right in front of the car. Allison holds his hair back, tells him it’s okay, he’s okay, and that they’re going home. _Home?_ Klaus never had one, never will. He coughs and spits, and finally breathes through the pain in his deflated lungs.

The driver pulls the window down.

“An alcoholic stays here!”

“Excuse me?” 

Allison’s still crouched down next to Klaus as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. The next urge is, though, to take a flask out of his pocket and gulp the whiskey down just to get rid of the taste of his own innards. 

“I don’t want to deal with his shit in my car,” the driver says. It’s an old white man, he looks at both Klaus and Allison with disgust. 

“He needs help,” Allison replies politely. “Please. And I could...”

And the man decides to ruin his life just exclaiming,

“I will _never_ listen to a black woman! And I’m not taking _him.”_

“Oh, you’re _so_ taking him,” Allison stands up and adjusts her dress. Her hand is on the door when the driver tries to turn the wheel. “I heard a rumor...” so sickly-sweet, and the man’s eyes turn so creepily white as if he’s dying. “...that you took us to the South Dallas.”

Most likely, she’ll still pay for the ride. Klaus wants to take a bet.

The driver leaves his seat to open the door for them and even grumbles something like _“don’t hit your head”_ when Klaus climbs inside. He’s still half deaf after that mad rush of panic so he just nods wordlessly. And, Allison is next to him, squeezing his hand to draw his attention.

“Yeah, what?”

The most coherent line he can produce. 

“Luther wanted to drag you out of the elevator by the ankle, but I didn’t let him,” Allison clicks her tongue with a frown.

“Ouch, that stings, Ally,” Klaus clutches at his chest. “Good to know.”

“Klaus, even if it’s the overdose —”

He nearly snaps,

“It’s not!”

“— I’ll help you go through this.”

She hugs him. He drops his head on her shoulder, pulling her closer, and he probably stinks, but years of doing cocaine killed his receptors. He doesn’t care.

Allison keeps repeating that everything is gonna be okay, but her voice cracks.

He cares. 

*** 

He’s crashing on her lovely couch again, his new best friend, his safe haven. Allison’s house is strangely empty and quiet.

“Where’s Ray? Is he, like...”

“Busy,” Allison cuts him off. 

“Gotcha.”

It’s none of his business anyway. Allison doesn’t turn off the reading lamp, and Klaus is grateful, as if the light can scare the ghosts away. Exhaustion takes over, he’s barely awake when Allison brings him a glass of water. His stomach is killing him — he blankly thinks it’s The Horror’s fault — but he drinks it anyway.

“I can give you Ray’s shirt if you want,” Allison offers. 

Klaus sniffles.

“Don’t wanna sweat through his clothes,” he ruffles his damp curls. “When I told him our family barbeques are about to get real weird… That’s not what I meant,” he chuckles, voice hoarse and throat tight. “He’s a lucky man, sis.”

And Klaus is a lucky brother.

Allison stays with him until he begins to doze off — he’s scared of the nightmares and his _visitors,_ and he doesn’t want to throw up in his sleep again. That would be too much to explain to Raymond. Klaus really _likes_ Raymond.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Allison says. “Tell me if you need anything.”

 _Bold of you to assume that I have enough energy for this,_ Klaus thinks. And nods. He doesn’t want to bother her, he doesn’t want to wake up having no clue what he was doing all night long. He compares the possession to his not-so-past drug addiction, _he totally doesn’t remember_ how he ended up on that floor as if somebody had just turned the switch off. Reprogrammed him.

His arm’s swinging over the side of a couch so if the monsters want to enjoy their light supper, he doesn’t mind. Just because he can’t fight back anyway. He’s drifting off back to sleep when he feels a tingle in his chest, when the pillow begins to smother him. Startled, Klaus tosses and turns and nearly rolls off of the couch.

“Sh, don’t yell, you don’t want to wake her up.”

“Go away,” Klaus groans. “Or I swear to God —”

He knows where to buy drugs in Dallas, okay?

“I’m sorry.”

“You _what?”_

Klaus both whisper-shouts and whisper-laughs as he sees Ben fumble with the words. Ben rolls his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows in his usual manner.

“You know, amigo, I hit my head when I fell off the chair,” Klaus massages his temple. “Sorry, Casper, I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben repeats, louder this time. 

“What’s the noise, pumpkin?”

Klaus sits up to get a better look at Ben, and well, he’s still the same, still dead. Maybe just looking a bit guilty.

Ben says,

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I thought _you_ were the smart one, Ben.”

He knows he’s just talking to himself. 

“I know what it feels like, Klaus.”

“You know _what?_ What it feels like when you’re having seizures during the family meeting? When you faint, and your siblings think you just got overdosed — nothing unusual — or when the taxi driver refuses to drive you _home_ because you can’t stop puking?”

He punches the pillow before falling back onto it face first.

“I know what it feels like to be alive,” Ben says. “Because I remember.”

“Oh yeah, wanna tell me you got to taste _all_ the flavors of life?”

“I got to taste the flavor of death.”

“Me too!”

This conversation leaves him drained, he’s panting and his surroundings lose their shapes again. He’s sleep-deprived, but he can’t relax, he can’t let them take advantage on him. He’s a medium, but his body is still _his_ body, but the ghosts opened the gate and stumbled inside of his _temple,_ robbing him of his privacy. He sees the two cowboys looking at him, laughing at him, and he just flips them off. 

“You need to sleep, Klaus.”

“Thank you very much,” Klaus spits. “Do you have a mental “Do not disturb” sign I can put on my forehead? That one,” he points at one of the cowboys. “He wants to bang the waitress from the diner, and she’s usually so nice to _me,_ and she’s pretty flirty, you know what I mean?”

Ben’s mouth twitches.

“Gross.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Klaus sighs. “Can’t stay awake without drugs.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Piss off. Buenas noches,” Klaus turns away from him, wrapping the throw blanket around his shoulders. “I’m not doing this again unless you’re taming your kinky ghostly octopus who fucked up my liver.”

“That was alcohol.”

 _“And_ tentacles.”

It’s hard to open his eyes when he blinks, and he knows he should struggle, it’s just another round of a violent training. 

“I’m not gonna let them possess you.”

“What do you mean?”

Klaus turns back to him, interested. 

Ben sits down on the floor next to the couch and says,

“I’ll be there to protect you while you’re sleeping. For fuck’s sake, Klaus, you haven’t slept in a week. Except that drunk blackout which wasn’t healthy.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, Benny,” Klaus mumbles. “But the possession thing wasn’t healthy either.”

He barely finishes the sentence as his mind drifts away, leaving him defenseless. 

But Ben owes him a debt after all.

Klaus has stopped counting the rock bottoms at this point.

**Author's Note:**

> ben should’ve apologized and so i made him :) the try-to-fuck-jill possession doesn’t happen, you are welcome :)  
> \---  
> the title from the dialogue:  
> “how many more rock bottoms are you gonna have to hit before you start taking care of yourself?”  
> “i’m thinking of a number between 11 and 25.”  
> (2x05, Valhalla)  
> \---  
> thanks for reading! feel free to share your thoughts, comments are very appreciated <3  
> my tumblr: i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky


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